


Marble Machine

by krrs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, I've Never Tried Writing Straight Up Fluff So Go Easy On Me Please, M/M, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 01:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krrs/pseuds/krrs
Summary: Steve has had all kinds of odd neighbors in his life. In fact, this neighborhood alone is full of them. There’s the bird-man down the lane, the 90s hacker looking guy in the mansion, the super spy assassin woman in the tiny house on the corner. But none of them hold a candle to the absolute wack job of an enigma that is Steve’s next door neighbor, Bucky Barnes.





	Marble Machine

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look at me! No angst or anything! This is my attempt at something lighthearted and fluffy because let's face it, we're all gonna need it after Endgame.
> 
> Please excuse spelling/grammar mistakes and I hope you enjoy!

Steve has had all kinds of odd neighbors in his life. In fact, this neighborhood alone is full of them. There’s the bird-man down the lane, the 90s hacker looking guy in the mansion, the super spy assassin woman in the tiny house on the corner. But none of them hold a candle to the absolute wack job of an enigma that is Steve’s next door neighbor, Bucky Barnes.

Steve is just returning from his morning jog, rounding the corner onto his block when the very man zips past him on a razor scooter, biking helmet in place as he sails with wicked speed down the asphalt. This is a normal occurrence. Steve goes on his jog, Bucky rides around on a razor scooter. The first few times, it scared the shit out of Steve. One second, he’s feeling good, endorphins pumping through his body and happy as a clam. The next, a solid mass of hurtling muscle and strange neighbor is racing past him in a flash, not giving him a second glance or a chance to wave. 

By the time Steve reaches his house, Bucky’s already thudding up his own steps and slamming the door shut. 

According to the others in the neighborhood, the behavior is nothing personal so Steve tries not to be too offended. But hey, he’s a nice guy! He enjoys socializing with his neighbors even if they are a little weird. The first month or two after moving in, Steve gets invited to a couple backyard cookouts and friendly pizza nights. And they’re really, really fun. Everyone here is a bit eccentric and Steve is still getting used to them, but he has a good time. Don’t get him wrong, though. Steve is weird, too; he’s got some questionable obsessions and collections but hey, that’s part of being human. So really, Steve feels quite at home among the other residents even if their oddity is a step above his own. However, the infamous Bucky Barnes never shows up to any neighborhood events. He remains the mystery in a maze of riddles. 

And so, on this rainy May morning, Steve hatches an idea. He’s going to introduce himself to Bucky Barnes. He goes to the store, buys some boxed cake batter and follows the directions on the back until his kitchen smells like a disgustingly sweet bakery and he stands there with his hands on his hips and smiles. He’ll admit, the cake isn’t perfect; he iced it while it was still warm so some of the icing is sliding off and it’s a bit lumpy but since when does any of that truly matter?

Steve puts the cake on one of the plates he owns that isn’t chipped and makes for the door. He’s using both hands to carry it and closes the front door with his foot before bounding down his porch and humming as he approaches Bucky’s domain. It’s only drizzling now and the air is warm enough that the grey skies don’t even bother him.

Bucky’s house is pretty. It’s a lot of white paint with forest green shutters, it looks like a house your grandmother would host a tea party in. There are flowers on the window sills and a rocking chair next to the door. Picturesque. It’s quite cute and Steve feels suddenly self conscious of his own less developed house decorations. Steve takes a deep breath and tries to shove all preconceived ideas of Bucky away as he rings the doorbell, he wants this introduction to be a starting place. 

It rings through the house and silence follows. Steve shuffles on the doorstep. Nothing. He rings the doorbell again harder this time like somehow pressing the plastic with more force will increase the volume of the bell. Maybe Bucky didn’t hear the first. Steve’s gentle smile fades as his second attempt is met with silence. Okay, buddy, Steve didn’t make a cake and march over here for nothing. Steve rings the doorbell a third and fourth time, back to back ‘BONGS’ chiming from inside the walls.

That did it, there’s some muffled cursing. Some accompanying stomps. The door opens just a crack and a single eye peeks out. It squints at Steve through dark lashes.

“Can I help you?” Bucky asks, eyeing the cake in Steve’s hands. He tries to get a look at Bucky, the only physical form he has in Steve’s mind is a vague blur of a human being. But Bucky’s having none of it, he keeps the door open just enough to speak through.

Steve clears his throat. “Hi! I’m Steve, I moved in about two months ago but I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. Thought I’d say hello.” Steve gives Bucky his best friendly-neighborhood-mama’s boy-I-help-old-ladies-cross-the-street smile and holds his cake up. “Made a cake.”

Bucky’s still squinting at him, maybe chewing his lip though it’s hard to tell. “Thank you.” He says plainly and then there’s an arm is sticking out of the doorway and grabbing at the plate. The door opens as little as possible and Steve can’t help but wonder why Bucky’s being so secretive. Or maybe he’s suspicious of Steve. Or maybe he’s just weird.

“You’re-uh...welcome.” Steve watches as Bucky takes the plate from him and just holds it, mid air. It’s a strange standstill they’ve created for themselves. Slowly, Bucky’s arm begins to retract but since the door is only open as wide as the width of his arm, the entire plate does not fit through. Bucky sighs and meets Steve’s eye. The door pushes open agonizingly slow and Bucky tilts the plate on a diagonal to minimize the opening further.

At one point it looks like the cake might slide right off the plate and Steve sucks in a sharp breath, but it stays. Bucky continues to wedge it through his doorway until it’s all the way through and Steve still hasn’t got a proper look at his neighbor. There’s just that one eye narrowed at Steve through the doorway. 

“You didn’t introduce yourself.” Steve pushes, politely. Bucky’s gaze bores into Steve. He sniffs.

“Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” Steve says with all the authenticity he can muster. Bucky doesn’t offer any response, he just keep staring at Steve. A few seconds goes by.

“Bye,” Bucky sing-songs but doesn’t close the door. 

Steve nods, cocking an eyebrow. “Uh, see you.” And he doesn’t forget to smile before leaving. As soon as his back is turned, Bucky clicks the door shut and Steve walks home shaking his head. Strange as the interaction was, Steve considers it a victory. He offered a cake, said cake was accepted. There, he and Bucky are official neighbors now. As of this moment, Steve is now acquainted with everyone in the neighborhood, first name basis, baby! Maybe once summer starts, he’ll feel confident enough to host his own barbeque. 

Steve turns the knob on his front door and is met with unusual resistance. He tries again and screws up his face in disbelief, he’s gone and locked himself out. Fucking great. Luckily there’s a backdoor, unluckily it’s probably locked since Steve never uses it. But it’s worth a try, so Steve rounds his house and approaches the door, his shirt collecting tiny raindrops.

He tries this knob. It’s locked as well. Steve yells in frustration and kicks the door with his toe and then yells again because god damnit, it fucking hurt. Shit, what is he supposed to do now? He doesn’t have a spare key like a normal person and he’s not about to break his own window to get inside. Steve runs a hand through his hair and places a hand on his hip as he thinks of what to do next.

Maybe an upstairs window was left open and he can scale the house? That’s ridiculous, it’s been raining all morning he wouldn’t have left a window open nor can he scale a house. Probably not, anyway. Maybe Steve just has to call the fire department and they’ll come out and bust his door down.

He starts seriously considering this idea but doesn’t get very far because there’s a movement in his peripherals that begs for Steve’s attention. The movement comes from inside Bucky Barnes’ house, and Steve knows this because he can see inside the window frame as Bucky holds the blinds open to presumably look out at Steve. Great, now Steve is ruining whatever first impression he left on his new neighbor by looking like a complete dumbass as he stands on his lawn and mopes at his own locked door. Steve sighs and raises a hand in a sarcastic wave to the still unseen entity that is Bucky Barnes, who as of right now is represented by a darkened slat of absent blinds.

Then the blinds are raising. There’s a shadow in the window frame. It’s watching him and Steve’s eyebrows crease. Jesus Christ, would it kill Bucky to be a _little_ normal? Of course it fucking would! Steve tries to open the door again just because it’s something to do other than stand there and much to absolutely no one's surprise, it remains locked. Can you believe it?

Steve tries not to, but he looks back over the his neighbor’s window. The silhouette framed inside is moving, Steve squints. Bucky’s opening the window? It slides up and light spills into Bucky’s house. There’s still some distance between Steve’s house and Bucky’s so much to Steve’s dismay, Bucky’s physicality remains an enigma.

Steve puts his hands on his hips again, waiting for Bucky to say something but the figure just stares. It stares for a couple seconds. Then it’s arms move and it’s making a strange movement, hands going towards its mouth. Well, _Bucky’s_ mouth. He’s...eating? It looks like Bucky’s holding a plate with one hand and forking large spoonfuls into his mouth with the other. Steve scoffs, Bucky’s eating his fucking cake! He’s eating his cake as he watches Steve struggle in the rain! Fine! That's totally acceptable behavior.

Only that it’s not and that it’s very weird. Whatever. Steve’s not going to let it be weirder than it already is. It starts to rain harder. He cups his hands around his mouth.

“Locked myself out!” He calls to Bucky, in an ‘oh-darn-it!-silly-old-me’ voice that he hopes conceals all the frustration that’s steadily growing in his chest. The Bucky-shadow keeps staring. And eating. Then it nods. _He_ , nods.

“I can see that.” Bucky calls back, just loud enough for Steve to hear. “C’mere.”

Steve does as told because what else is there to do? He approaches Bucky’s side window, happy to finally get a look at the mysterious scooter zoomer. Steve gets closer and okay, wow. Bucky doesn’t look like Steve expects him to look.

The man is a god damned Calvin Klein model, his jawline a gift from either God or more likely the Devil. He’s got these haunting blue-grey eyes that just glimmer down at Steve through the window and take his breath away. Steve watches Bucky shove another bite of cake into his mouth and absolutely, does NOT watch his stupid, frosting covered lips! Don’t even think that Steve does that, because he doesn’t. What the fuck, are weird semi rude people even allowed to be that hot? When Bucky swallows, he burps and doesn’t excuse himself. Nevermind, I guess.

“I saw you standing out there so I called Natasha. Romanov?” Bucky says, like Steve is supposed to understand what their fellow neighbor has to do with anything.

Steve waits for Bucky to continue. But he doesn’t. “Okay?” Steve sighs.

“So she can come unlock your door?” He says it like, ‘duh?’ and Steve doesn’t appreciate it.

“Why would she unlock my door?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Because that’s what she _does _, it’s a _thing_."__

____

____

____

____

“Oh, well if it’s a _thing_ ,” Steve throws his hands up.

“Yeah, it is a _thing_ , and everyone in the neighborhood knows about it. She has lockpicks. Anyway, I called her and told her that you locked yourself out.” Bucky blinks down at Steve. Steve blinks back at Bucky, eyebrows raised as the rain hits him unapologetically. 

“And?”

“And she’s not home.” Bucky sniffs. “Sorry.”

Steve curses and turns to start walking back to his house. To hop in his car and wait out the rain, maybe give Natasha a call and ask for more details. “Alright, thank you, Bucky. Nice talking to you!” He scoffs.

“Hey, wait!” Bucky yells. “You can come in!” It stops Steve dead in his tracks, back turned to the window. He rotates, slowly, eyeing Bucky through the window frame. “Since it’s raining. If you want…” Bucky adds lamely.

Steve nods. “Thanks.” Bucky smiles a little at that and puts the plate down so he can stick an arm out of the window, palm reaching toward Steve and making a grabby hand.

“C’mon, I’ll pull you up.” He says, like that’s normal.

“Yeah, I’ll just use the door maybe?” Steve suggests, pointing to the front of the house. Bucky goes, “Oh,” and makes for the front door. Steve shakes his head as he trots through slippery grass towards the same porch he left just five minutes ago.

“I know it’s a bit much, sorry.” Bucky says once he opens the door for Steve. He steps through into the dry warmth of a home and breathes a sigh of relief. Right away, Steve feels like he’s been whipped repeatedly in the eyes with a fruit roll up. This place is so colorful that it burns. Bucky’s fucking shirt is so colorful that it burns, he looks like he’s wearing bowling alley carpet on his torso and it’s the worst thing Steve has ever seen. 

But the house. Wow. The walls are covered with objects of all kinds, all seemingly random in collection. There are bike parts, thin and winding metal bits, plastic tubes, old instruments, levers and gears all clacking together like some kind of junkyard engine. The walls themselves are bright yellows and oranges, striped and vivid. Steve turns his head around, taking in all the platforms and tubes that connect above him, around him and tries to pinpoint the source of noise. His eyes catch onto a tiny white marble that rolls around the track right above his head, above the front door and watches it drop into a funnel and swirl around before being spit out and up precisely back onto the track. Gravity pulls it further and it spins in a loop, it hit with a rotating mallet and is propelled further along its track.

The whole of the interior is like this. Tens of marbles all rolling and thunking around, clicking happily in dizzying patterns in colors that Steve has long forgotten about.

“Whoa,” he breathes and Bucky shuffles his feet.

“I know, it’s weird. It’s just something I do...for fun.” Bucky scratches the back of his neck and ushers Steve further inside, towards the kitchen. Steve pads after him, eyes wide as he tries to take in everything around him. There are so many tracks that they all are overlapping and intertwining, it’s the most amazing that Steve has ever seen.

“No, it’s not weird.” It’s a little weird. “It’s, uh. Really beautiful, actually.”

In front of him, Bucky doesn’t even turn around. He just puffs out a sad, small laugh. “You don’t have to say that, it’s alright.”

“No, I mean it!” Steve says, much louder than he planned. “I collect marbles.” He spills quickly. Bucky turns around to face Steve who stands in the hallway, slack jawed as he watches the incredible, almost toy-like machinations in play. Bucky stares at him for a moment.

“You collect marbles?” He asks. At last, Steve looks away from the marble machine to meet Bucky’s eye.

“Yeah.” Steve smiles. “I have ever since I was a kid. I don’t know why, really. I just think they’re pretty neat pieces of glasswork.” Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and bites his lip. “Would you mind if I looked around?”

Bucky blushes and his mouth falls open slightly. The red of his cheeks clashes horribly with all those neon shades on his shirt and he shrugs. “Okay,” he grins. And despite thinking that Bucky is indeed a bit rude, Steve also is starting to think that he’s very, very cute. Then Bucky walks into the kitchen, leaving Steve to explore to his heart’s content. 

Steve gently trods into the living room where a floral print couch sits against the wall. Above it hangs a large picture frame, several feet wide by several tall. There’s no painting inside, just a continuation of the marble track. It does get denser inside, though. Lines reaching diagonal and dumping the marbles down at a quicker pace than the rest of the house. They make melodic clicks as they plop down row by row and it makes Steve’s smile grow. 

Next, Steve goes into the dining room. There’s no dining table in here, though. Instead of any actual furniture, there’s more marble maze. It reaches up and out from the walls, supported by braided colored ribbons suspended from the ceiling, allowing the track to span from wall to wall above Steve’s head. It runs in archways all the way across the room, like a toy box tunnel that sends a nostalgic warmth through his spine. The simple clicking of the marbles on the track bring Steve back to his childhood, long days spent sick and playing with the pointless glass toys in his bedroom. There’s a loneliness tied to the little glass things because of all the time he spent in recovery, but here in Bucky’s house filled with color and life and creativity, he feels anything but lonesome. Isolated maybe, but understood. Intimately.

Bucky finds him in here. He comes in slowly, nervously almost and hands Steve a hand towel. Steve mentally curses and eagerly takes the towel; how fucking rude of him to walk all over someone’s house while dripping wet! Well, he’s not soaked. But he’s still far too close to the realm of rude than he would like.

He dries off as best he can while Bucky stands with his hands clasped in front of him.

“Bucky, this is really something. I mean…” Steve is at a loss for words. “How long did this all take?”

Bucky’s looking at the floor and won’t make eye contact. It’s a complete change in behavior from the constant staring earlier. He shrugs. “Started it when I was 27, so a little over a decade. I’m always changing parts out and adding stuff, so it’s a work in progress I guess.”

“Well, it’s amazing.” Steve remarks absently as he wanders passed Bucky and into another hallway. “I mean, what do you _do_? Like, where’d you learn to do this?” Asks Steve and Bucky follows him as he continues his self guided tour.

“I’m an engineer.” Steve turns his shoulders to raise an eyebrow at Bucky. “For Stark Industries.” Steve eyebrows raise further.

“And what do you do there?”

“Uh, I design custom-made prosthetic limbs for children.”

Steve promptly drops the dish towel he’s holding. _Fucking of course_ , that’s what Bucky Barnes does. The gorgeous, strange son of a bitch. Steve feels his heart expand so big inside his chest that it starts to hurt as Bucky’s eyes come up to meet his for the first time since the conversation started.

“Oh,” Steve wheezes out, high pitched and pathetic. Bucky’s face is redder than it’s been and Steve notes that he must not be a fan of attention. Bucky hangs by the doorway to the kitchen and Steve gathers that he probably wants Steve to follow him there. He humors him. Bucky clears his throat when they walk inside.

“What about you, what to you do?” He asks, motioning for Steve to take a seat.

“I’m an artist. And I’m one of the lucky ones who somehow make enough to live off of.” Steve tosses Bucky a lopsided grin. He chuckles and gathers some glasses from the cabinet. Steve looks around and notices that this is the only room free of tracks; it’s a lot quieter in here. Bucky sets down the glasses on the table and pours them both a glass of, uh, milk? Nope, eggnog.

“You like nog?” Bucky asks, only after he’s poured Steve a cup.

“In May? Sure, why not.”

“Cool,” Bucky nods and continues to pour Steve’s glass all the way to the brim. Just as Steve was beginning to forget that Bucky is weird. 

Then they just talk. Mostly about work stuff, but also general life stuff. Getting to know your neighbor stuff. Steve especially likes when Bucky gets dopey when he starts talking about the kids he works with. He puts his head in his palm and his eyes get all soft and sparkly, loose smile hanging off his still frosting coated lips. It makes Steve’s heart thud.

The thing about Bucky is that he always turns the conversation back to Steve. He never lets himself talk for too long or holds eye contact for more than a couple seconds before he’s ducking his head and blushing. Now, Steve is no dummy. He knows what blushing usually means, but it’s extremely hard to get a read on Bucky Barnes. 

Sometimes he’s still stiff in conversation, bordering on rude. Sometimes he’s aloof and off somewhere else, or watching the marbles roll along out in the hallway from the kitchen table. And he’s always ending his monologues with a ‘well, what about you?’.

“Cake?” Bucky asks all of a sudden, getting up and returning with the half eaten dessert Steve gifted to him earlier. Steve chuckles.

“No, thanks. That’s for you, I can’t eat that.”

Bucky pretends to be offended. “Oh, come on. It’s really good, I made it myself.” He giggles out, slicing Steve a piece anyway. Steve laughs and throws his head back, thinking about how stupid Bucky looks in his butt ugly shirt and blushy, dopey smile. 

The rainy, springtime Sunday afternoon is spent as such. Soft clicking of marbles swirling around the house and introductory level conversation. It’s nice, really nice. And Steve can’t help but wonder why Bucky stays away from social gatherings. He almost flat out asks him, just says ‘hey, why do you avoid everyone?’ but that’s not a very neighborly thing to ask. Instead he asks,

“Hey, Sam Wilson is having a cookout next Saturday. Are you going?” And Bucky stills. Hand wrapped around his glass of nog. His mouth opens and closes a couple times before he sighs.

“No,” Bucky settles.

Steve licks his lips, palms sweaty all of a sudden. “Do you want to? Go, I mean?” He swallows. “With me?” It’s silent except for the marbles on their tracks.

Bucky flushes, mouth open. “I don’t know, Steve. That’s not really my scene.” He says softly.

“Oh,” Steve nods. “Yeah, that’s cool. I get it.” Yikes. Maybe he misread that one. He's thinking of how to recover the conversation when Bucky’s phone beeps from in his pocket. The noise startles Bucky and he jumps, knocking his knees on the underside of the table before he slides his phone out. Steve sits there, a bit awkwardly, as Bucky reads a text.

“That was Natasha. She says she’s on her way over with her picks.” He forces a grin. And well, Steve can read that sign loud and clear so he stands and pushes his chair in.

“I guess I’ll get going then.” He starts walking towards the front door with Bucky at his heels. “Um, thanks for letting me hang out for a while and showing me, uh, everything.” Steve gestures to the tinkerings on the walls. “Really awesome,” he whispers with a distracted smile before shaking himself back to reality and going for the door. Just outside the window, Steve catches a glimpse of red hair walking down the sidewalk towards his house holding an umbrella.

“Sure thing, thanks for the cake.” Bucky says. Steve nods with a polite smile and opens the door.

“Wait, Steve.” Bucky urges. His eyes are closed as he talks. “I really meant what I said earlier, about cookouts. Not being my thing. I didn’t mean to like, turn you down. I just…” Steve waits for Bucky as he chews on his lip and flicks his eyes up to look at Steve. “I don’t know, maybe on the next rainy day, if you want, you could bring some marbles over. We could build something together, or something. Nevermind, it’s. Forget I said that, just uh take care and-”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve grins from halfway outside the door. He can feel himself color which is stupid, it’s just stupid that he’s a 39 year old adult who still blushes. Really stupid. “That sounds really nice, Bucky.”

Bucky leans his head against the front door as he holds it open. A smile grows, “Okay.” He says quietly.

“Alright. See you around, Bucky.” Steve waves and skips off the porch to meet Natasha. He casts a look over his shoulder, for no reason other than to get a final look at Bucky before he closes the door with a click. He’s still smiling, still red in the face when Natasha pulls him under the umbrella and gives him a knowing look.

“Well, well. Look who made a friend.” She winks. “I guess it’s a good thing I told Bucky I wasn’t home…”

“Wait, what?” 

“I wanted to take a nap, figured he’d play nice and invite you in.” She sighs, bending down and beginning to fiddle with the lock. Steve crosses his arms at her. Natasha doesn’t have to look, she can sense the disapproval radiating from him. “What? The guys could seriously use some friends.”

Steve doesn’t have much to say to argue because truthfully, it had been a wonderful afternoon filled with a sort of innocence and creativity he usually only found in the company of other artists. Bucky’s refreshing. He’s totally weird. Strange. Odd. Eccentric. Smart. Genius, even. Weird. Sometimes rude. Innovative. Caring. Passionate. Cute. And weird. Really, really weird. 

And Steve is like, _way_ into it.


End file.
